When Empires Fall (40 page)

“And if I don’t want to go?” she asked, lifting her chin stubbornly and crossing her arms over her chest.

“That is up to you. I’m not ordering you to, I am simply requesting.”

But the look in his eyes told her that he would be disappointed if she didn’t go with him, and the last thing she wanted to do was put him out like this when he needed her. After all, she had told him she would do anything for him. With a heavy sigh, she let her hands fall to her sides in defeat.

“Alright, I’ll go. But I can’t promise you that I won’t do any of the aforementioned embarrassing things, thus making you regret this very moment.”

“I think we could all use a good laugh right now, so if you feel inclined to fall down some stairs, be my guest. Just don’t sue me if you break a leg.”

“Such a nice guy,” she said sarcastically, shaking her head at him. “Now eat your damn cannoli before I change my mind and take them back.”

S
o let me get this straight,” Greg began, his hand fisted around a ten-pound weight as he did bicep curls on the bench beside Linc. “You guys get visited by some detective saying he has a letter accusing your grandpa of murder. Then your dad comes out and publicly announces that he witnessed said murder. Then your grandpa pulls the plug; bam, he’s dead. And now everyone is going to naturally assume that he did in fact commit the murder because a suicide is as good as a confession.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Linc huffed, his hands behind his head as he methodically did crunches, annoyed that the gym around them was depressingly empty. Clearly the hotel was already taking a hit from the publicity of the scandal. “Hell, it’s still fucking surreal to me. I don’t even know what to make of it all.”

“You could change your name and move to Iceland.”

“That’s your answer to everything.”

“Because it’s a good escape plan,” Greg argued, switching the weight to his left arm. “Besides, I really don’t see a positive way for you to spin this one. It’s pretty bad.”

“Tell me about it,” Linc grunted as he fell back onto the mat, sweat pouring down his face. “But if I don’t come up with something soon, we’re all screwed.”

“Isn’t that fundraiser thing tonight? I’m sure that’ll give your top clients the chance to see that you’re holding things together. Word on the street is that the Vasser Hotel company is going to implode and collapse because of this, but if you can put on a good face and convince everyone that it’s business as usual despite the, ya know,
murder
, then I think you’ll be okay.”

“Shit, that is tonight, isn’t it?” Linc rubbed his face with his hands and groaned. “The last thing I want to do is deal with the goddamn press. You know they’re going to be there, swarming the place like sewer rats.”

“Just show up with some bombshell on your arm and maybe they’ll forget,” Greg suggested jokingly.

Linc rose up on his elbows and managed a weary grin. “That’s actually not that bad of an idea, my friend. Though I don’t think even bringing Megan Fox would distract that crowd. But it might make me feel better.”

“You thinking of bringing that redhead you told me about?”

Linc shrugged, reaching for his water bottle and gulping down half of it before speaking again. “I don’t know. I really shouldn’t put Lynette through all of this. It isn’t fair to her.”

“She’s a politician’s daughter, isn’t she?” Greg asked, earning a nod from Linc. “Well then she’s used to the press. She’ll be good with it.”

“Yeah, but being a politician’s daughter also means that her face means something to these psychos. And next year is an election year, ergo associating with me is probably not going to put her in her father’s good graces right now.”

“You make it sound like you have the plague.” Greg rose to his feet and dropped the weight onto the rack with a loud crashing sound that echoed through the gym. “If she likes you, she’ll go.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.” Linc scowled, accepting Greg’s hand to help him to his feet. “She may not be thinking very clearly about the consequences of associating with me.”

“You don’t give her enough credit, man,” Greg countered, patting Linc on the back as they headed towards the showers. “Hell, I still stick around, don’t I? So you can’t be nearly as bad as you think you are.”

“Yeah, but even
now
being around me improves your social status. You’re just the son of a farmer from Iowa with bad teeth.”

“You sure know how to put a man down when he’s just tryin’ to help you, Vasser.” Greg chuckled, slapping his friend on the back companionably. “Now call your girl before I call her up myself and steal her from you. Bad teeth and all.”

Linc laughed and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “Can’t risk that. I’ll be there in a second.”

Greg walked off as Linc pulled up Lynette’s number and called her, still laughing to himself. When she answered, he felt his smile grow ten times bigger.

“Hey, beautiful. Put on something sexy tonight and meet me in the hotel lobby at eight. I’m taking you to a fundraiser.”

Soulful jazz bounced
off the walls of her townhouse as she slipped into a dress as dark as night. Her fingers skillfully located the zipper at the back as she slowly slid it up, enveloping her slender body in a color appropriate for a mourner.

And Lord, was she mourning.

Not visibly, Madison contended proudly, her eyes meeting her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror in her bedroom. No, to anyone else she appeared melancholy, but steady; grieving, but calm. She was a woman who had lost a family member who had meant very much to her, who had to adjust to the newfound knowledge of the horrific acts he had committed in his past. Of course, most of that knowledge was not actually new. But no one else would be permitted to know that.

Her room, and her townhouse on the Upper East Side, suited her tastes and her personality. It was a décor that referenced heavily on the oriental palate, with vibrant red and bold black covering nearly every surface. But the reference stopped there, and instead ventured into metropolitan modern and sophisticated, with hard, straight lines and bold, sharp edges. Her furniture reflected her passion for equal parts comfort and chic, begging to be sat upon and yet daring to be tarnished. Where there was wood, it was mahogany, a rich red toned wood that filled both her kitchen and her bathrooms, covered beautifully by stark black granite.

She disliked excessive patterns, preferring instead sleek, bold solids and textures that urged a second look and a reverent touch. As such, her enormous four poster bed with its red canopy and mountains of textured pillows, all in black, spoke as much about her belief in luxury as it did about her darker views about what went on in a bedroom. Sex had never ashamed her, nor had her need for it. She was a woman who knew the game of love like the back of her hand and in her experience, love was rarely, if ever, a part of it.

Except, of course, in that one case. But she’d damn herself to hell for even giving one more thought to what it felt like to have Wyatt Bailey’s hands on her.

To distract herself, she lifted her rounded glass of rich, dark cabernet to her lips, savoring the flavor on her tongue for a moment as she analyzed the fit of the dress on her figure. It infuriated her to notice that she had lost weight, even if it was only a few pounds, from the stress of the last few days. It was only in times of extreme emotional disturbance that her control over her eating habits wavered, and it was notably a bad sign. It was also maddening to acknowledge that the entire situation was going to get far worse before it got better.

Her eyes shot to the plain white envelope resting on her nightstand, her name scrawled in shaky cursive over the front. What lay inside had both alarmed and revolted her. It would surely do the same, and more, to her family when she presented it to them.

But that would have to wait until tomorrow, after the fundraiser. She wanted her brothers as attentive and positive as they could possibly be this night and then, only once the public display was done, would she reveal to them what she had learned.

She wondered briefly if Detective Don Hughes had found a similar confession in his own letter and if he had seen fit to share it with her brothers. Perhaps he had.

How would Grant, so honorable and loyal to the family, take the news that their grandfather had murdered not only his father, but his own three brothers just to climb to the top of the ladder of control? And how would Linc, goodhearted and honest, deal with knowing the lies that had been hidden for over half a century by a man he had admired and loved?

It would break them both. But it was the truth and it was time it came out.

In some ways, she knew it was a relief to not have to hide the few secrets she herself had been privy to any longer. While a large part of her was outraged and scorned by the notion that her grandfather had in fact hidden the worst of his secrets from her all these years, the other side of her wondered if she would have felt the same had she known then what she knew now.

She had been able to justify, in her mind, Cyrus killing Winston. It had been over Winston’s mistress, Rosalie, and the threat that the woman was to inherit everything, the money, the hotels, all of it, simply because Winston was smitten with her. Madison had understood the necessity to preserve the empire and keep it within the family, not allowing an outsider to benefit from years and years of Vasser blood, sweat, and tears. So it had seemed only right to snuff out Winston, as she had believed he was, in a way, committing treason against the very family that had made him. Yes, she had truly, wholeheartedly, believed that.

But now none of that made any sense. Now it appeared that the reason for killing his own father had not just been about reclaiming the family empire, it had been about covering up a crime. Rosalie had uncovered the truth and had told Winston. Cyrus would have lost the position he had killed for because of this woman, and so he had seen to it that she be so terrified of him that she would never again utter the name Vasser. He had killed her lover in cold blood and displayed to her just how far he was willing to go to preserve his reputation.

And as practical, cool-headed, and merciless as she sometimes thought herself to be, Madison still could not stand behind such heinousness. She could never, ever envision killing off her two older brothers simply to rise within the ranks of the family hierarchy. It was unimaginable.

But Cyrus had. And the betrayal and stunning fury she felt was burning through her like a raging, out of control fire hell bent on engulfing her in violent heat. It burrowed into her very bones and tore through her heart and her lungs, making a mockery of her principles and clawing at her soul with sharp and poisoned talons.

He had made her believe, for all these years, that he had done the right thing. He had convinced her to honor him, to trust him, to fight for him. He had given her what she had long considered a gift: his trust, his secrets, his goals. What did any of that mean now?

It meant that it was now up to her to pick up all of the pieces. And the detailed instructions on how to do so were carefully laid out in that very envelope.

Ignoring the shiver that ran down her spine, Madison took another sip of wine and sauntered towards her vanity table, setting her glass down and yanking open the top drawer of her mahogany jewelry cabinet. She reached in and lifted out a three tiered, diamond studded white gold necklace that sparked like fire in her hands. As she encircled it around her neck, her eyes lifted to watch her reflection. Against the smooth ivory of her skin and the elegant black of the strapless dress she wore, the diamonds were strikingly opulent. With practiced movements, she reached for matching diamond earrings, large studs that caught the light, and slipped them onto her ears.